


The Hunger, By Any Other Name

by jothending



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M, THIS IS ONLY TAGGED FOR DEATH BC OF LIKE... THE ENDING OF THE STORY??, if you were ok w/ john's end in canon then you'll be fine here, in which everyone is the hunger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14299047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jothending/pseuds/jothending
Summary: 1. The first sign that the Harvest approaches is the stirring of graves; long dead relatives and friends climb out of the ground.2. “When I was a cleric, back home, some members of my church found the Light of Creation. Young people, you know? The sort to ask big questions. Problem is, the Light had answers.”3. ...[A collection of 7 oneshots, about AUs in which each member of the IPRE are in John's place.]





	1. Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first sign that the Harvest approaches is the stirring of graves; long dead relatives and friends climb out of the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone else received a joke ask about "junger (jean hunger)," and of course [i reblogged it within the day](https://umbraastaff.tumblr.com/post/170141843784/) with a speedy fic.
> 
> This is by far the shortest chapter, and I might rewrite it with more detail later. But I hope you enjoy this version for now!

The laws of the universe were too limiting. When Barry Bluejeans was young and loved to learn, he took to the science of necromancy. He wanted to learn to help people with it– extend lives, and perhaps bring them back. He spent years on this, continuously bringing back husks of people. Whenever he tried to lengthen a life, the patient spent the rest of their life with supernatural sickness.

Barry only attempted these things for the willing, for the desparate. He was seen as strange, but kind– never a criminal. He could have spent his whole life trying to find the answers.

Instead, he found the Light, and learned the truth: the laws governing life and death could never be broken; he had spent a decade on a futile pursuit. But, with the knowledge and power offered by this new resource, perhaps he could find a way around these laws.

–

The first sign that the Harvest approaches is the stirring of graves; long dead relatives and friends climb out of the ground. They’re not empty or sick. They are always happy to be alive, and as far as anyone can tell, they act just like themselves. Even members of the Starblaster’s crew return in this manner.

The second sign of the Harvest’s arrival is when all of those brought back to life start to splutter and cough up everything inside of them. They spit blue onto the ground until they’re empty and they fall over, and the blue seeps into the ground,

And the third sign is all of the plants dying as the necrotic energy takes to the soil; blue oozing out of leaves and blossoms until they’re dried up.

The world ends when the blue touches the sky and the ocean; when it fills the entire world and there is nothing else left to see from the deck of the escaping ship.

–

The next time Barry has proper, conscious thought, it’s in a room much like his old lab; an organized mess cluttering several countertops. He finds himself on a stool, and sees a woman on another.

Her name is Lup, and she keeps asking about the things on the counter. Those things are easy to talk about, and she knows her way around science. When the topic shifts to more difficult things, and his answers have worse stuttering, he ends the meetings. She coughs up the blue rising in her throat, and then they are both gone.

–

When he finally tells her his name, she falls apart laughing. He feels like he doesn’t get the full extent of why, but he never asks.

–

In Taako’s room at midnight, Lup says, “It’s like he’s not as bad as he should be. Like maybe he wasn’t so bad, before all this.”

“He shoulda fuckin’ stayed not bad,” Taako says.

“Yeah,” Lup sighs, and looks down at her hands. “He did some stupid shit. But I’m kinda… almost… glad that I’ve met him.”

Taako mumbles as he flicks out the lights, “You’re too nice, but only at the worst times.”


	2. Overgrowth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When I was a cleric, back home, some members of my church found the Light of Creation. Young people, you know? The sort to ask big questions. Problem is, the Light had answers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written from a prompt by tumblr user [@merle-casts-zone-of-truth](https://merle-casts-zone-of-truth.tumblr.com/), whose great posts about John and Johnchurch are also where I got the idea to give John the last name "Hadar."
> 
> And then she made a fantastic playlist for this fic, [The Importance Of Every Note](https://merle-casts-zone-of-truth.tumblr.com/post/174964076162/the-importance-of-every-note-songs), which I just adore. Give it a listen while you read, perhaps!

On Tesseralia, they say they’ll give over the Light when John makes peace with the enemy.

The Light of Creation is right at their fingertips for the 30th cycle. All it’ll take is a conversation with the omniverse’s most enormous, threatening force.

“If there’s anyone in any plane who can do it, it’s you,” Lucretia says.

John smiles wryly. “Yes. If there’s anyone.”

“If you can’t make peace, get information,” Davenport advises. “But don’t sell yourself short. You’re good at this.”

“I’m good at this,” John repeats.

★

The first sign of the Overgrowth’s approach is widening cracks in sidewalks and rocks. Vines creeping up mailboxes. Farms yielding crops a little faster, fruits a little bigger. The sun feeling a little brighter.

★

John fixes his tie, closes his eyes, and wills himself into a deathly vulnerable space. He opens his eyes to a bizarre scene. It’s a beach, because he’s standing in the sand by the ocean, with waves that creep up close to his feet, then slide away just in time to leave them dry. Across from the ocean, though, there’s a dense forest, and stray trees permeate the rest of the environment: standing in the sand, and even in the ocean, swaying with the waves. They aren’t even trees you usually find near beaches.

The whole place looks like a collision. It’s as if a forest and a beach decided they both wanted to be here for this meeting, and they both followed through, with no coordination. There are two suns in the violet sky, too, as if to drive home the idea that it’s two places mashed together.

And John is standing across from someone else, in the sand, in the point of contact between these two climates. He’s a dwarf in a bright-colored shirt with a tropical print. He looks like a regular guy. Like a dad, even.

The dwarf squints at John, blinks a few times. “Huh,” he says, in a voice that’s too gruff, too earthy, too real to belong to someone at the center of a universe-consuming mass of plants.

“Hello, sir,” John says, forcing the bewilderment to keep out of his voice. “I am John Hadar. May I ask your name?”

“Highchurch. Uh, Merle. Highchurch.”

“Highchurch Merle?” John says, extending a hand. “A pleasure.”

“Other way around,” Merle chuckles, shaking it. “The pleasure’s mine! This is real weird, though. How’d you pull this off?”

“It’s something called Parley. A technique for peacemaking, which is what I hope to achieve with you. It ensures that the guest– that’s you– is perfectly safe. I invited you, so I can’t harm you,” John explains. He omits the bit where Merle can kill him, but he’s sure the dwarf will pick up on it. Then he adds, hopefully, “Question for a question?”

“You already asked my name,” Merle says, but after a beat where John’s trying to come up with a response, he grins. “Kidding! Let’s sit down. Then you can ask whatever you want.” He gestures past John, and so the human turns around to see a picnic table. He’s absolutely sure that wasn’t there a minute ago.

They sit down. John speaks again. “So, this place… I don’t recognize it, myself, but I’m wondering if it holds any significance to you.”

“Never seen anythin’ like it,” Merle says earnestly. “But I figure it’s, y’know, a metaphorical space. I’m from the beach, myself, always loved it. And the trees… I like ‘em plenty, too, but that’s gotta be more to do with my whole situation… and Pan. I’m a cleric, you know. Well, was a cleric.”

“Huh. Do you mind if I ask–”

Merle shakes his head, interrupting. “I get another question, pal!”

“Ah, yes,” John says, very worried that he’s going to have to give away (or come up with a lie about) important information.

“Do you like chess?”

John raises his eyebrows. “Oh, er, yes. I do. Very much.”

Merle smiles. “You seemed like the type.” He knocks on the table, and a square platform of wood rises from it, with a checkered pattern appearing as it does. Then, a boardful of chess pieces appears in their rightful places: John’s set is made of wood, and Merle’s pieces are all made of tiny, woven vines. “So, what was your question?”

“Oh, right. I was wondering, since you were a cleric before, how did you go from that occupation to… this?”

“Funny you should ask it that way,” Merle says, “Since I probably wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t a cleric in the first place.” He taps the table gently in thought. “People from my church, they… they found out something big, and they asked me to explain it. I asked Pan about it. And this whole shebang sprung from that event.”

“I… see.” John nods slowly, taking that in. He’s grateful for the chessboard: a perfect distraction to pad the conversation and keep his big questions from seeming too frequent. “I’m afraid I don’t know which of these sets counts as white or black, so I’m not sure whether to make a move or wait for you.”

“Oh! Who cares. You go ahead!”

They play for a few turns in silence. Merle is very slow, but he’s very good, and they’re about equally matched in skill. Finally, the dwarf says, “You mind if we get rid o’ the whole back-n-forth thing and just have a normal conversation?” With a cautious nod from John, he continues. “What really brings you here? I can’t imagine trying to talk things out with the plant plane was your first solution, if I’m causing so much trouble for you.”

“Ha,” John lets out a hint of a laugh at that. “No, it wasn’t. I only recently learned this technique. We just figured that it couldn’t hurt to try talking, right?”

Merle looks him in the eyes, looks through his eyes. It’s uncomfortable. John likes to be in control of what people see in him, and Merle looks like he’s reading an open book. “It’s more specific than that.”

John blinks. “Yes. Well, there’s also the issue where we won’t get the Light of Creation here unless I make peace with you,” he says, and only after it comes out does he realize how much he’s said, too directly. It was so compelling, in that moment looking at Merle’s eyes, to be honest. Goosebumps prick the back of his neck.

“The Light, huh?” Merle moves his bishop. Whaddya need that for?”

John hesitates. “We’re scientists. Er, my party. We want to study it.” Each of the last few words has to be forced up his throat, burning his tongue just slightly as they come out.

Merle meets his eyes again, looking disappointed this time. Like a parent of a kid who stole candy instead of, John reminds himself, an enormous eldritch forest that suffocates whole planar systems. “You don’t have to tell me,” Merle says, “But please don’t lie. Not in such a lovely place.”

So not even half-truths work. And it’s not as if John can risk trying a charm spell on a man with so much power. He’s just going to have to play the game: be honest, and try to get more information than he gives. “My apologies,” he says. “I hope you can forgive my caution.”

Merle nods. “You want the Light to get it away from me, right?” When John’s only response is a startled stare, the dwarf continues. “That’s good. I hope you use it for something better than we do.”

John blinks, but as he’s trying to find the right question about that, he feels a pressure on his legs. He looks down to see vines creeping up from the ground, locking his feet to the earth. “Uh, what’s–”

“Oh, shoot,” Merle exclaims, looking under the table from his side. “I think our time’s up. Is it possible for you to come back later? A while later. I don’t want you to be endangered here.”

“Ah, yes,” John says quickly. “Nice meeting you, Merle.”

“Yeah, yeah, nice chat, get outta here!” the cleric responds, voice lacking any real annoyance.

John closes his eyes.

★

The Overgrowth’s second sign is the death of small plants on the forest floor as the shadows of the canopy overtakes them. It’s the sidewalks crackling, home gardens climbing up the walls and through the windows. It’s people getting ill from non-native plants releasing toxins they don’t have the immune systems for.

★

Smoke hardens back into John’s form, and he looks up from his place on the floor. Everyone is still here: the crew, and Oriana. She looks down at him, question apparent on her face.

Back in his element, John pastes a bright, relieved smile onto his face. “The Overgrowth won’t be bothering us anymore.”

The crew stands in stunned silence, and then they break into cheers, with varying levels or sincerity. Oriana takes a bit longer to convince, but John says everything he needs to, gets ahold of the Light, and returns to the Starblaster with his crew.

Davenport speaks as soon as the door shuts behind them. “Well done getting the Light. What actually happened?”

“I played chess with the Overgrowth. His name is Merle,” John says flatly. Six pairs of eyes stare at him.

“You played chess with plant hell?” Taako clarifies. “For real?”

“So there was a specific person at the center of it all?” Lucretia asks, already writing.

“Yes. And he used to be a cleric of Pan. I think… it seemed like godly power was involved in the Overgrowth’s creation. I’m going to ask more later.”

“What? Why not just stay there and get the rest of the info back then?” Magnus asks.

“The plants there started acting up, and he asked me to leave. I was worried I’d die if I didn’t, and then we’d have no chance to get this world’s Light.”

Davenport nods. “Good call. Give it as much time as you think it needs, then get back in there.”

Lup finally speaks. “He didn’t kill you. Like, he actively tried to not kill you. That’s nuts.”

“Yeah,” John says.

★

In the Overgrowth’s later stages, plants start to animate. Roots wrap around the foundations of buildings and crush them. Vines overrun the streets and valleys. Touching any of them gets you dragged underground, locked in a dirt tomb until the world ends.

★

Since it’s only a month to the end of the year, and the heightened activity of the Overgrowth might distract Merle in later conversations, John decides to Parley at the next reset. He finds himself in the same place, with waves a little calmer than he remembers. This time, the picnic table is already in front of him, and their half-finished chess game is waiting. And on the other side of the table…

“Merle,” he says.

“John! Nice to see ya. Thanks for waiting.”

“Of course,” John says. “May I ask what cut our last meeting short?”

Merle takes a moment to think. “Hard to explain. When I’m not here, with you, I don’t have a body, or even individuality. I’m just part of the mass. And I’m sort of a reassuring force, because of my role in all this. So when I’m not there, they get… antsy? Like a bunch of kids,” he adds with a laugh.

John smiles. He can’t quite get behind the humor of calling the Overgrowth “kids,” but Merle’s shameless enjoyment of his own joke is sort of endearing.

“I gotta question,” Merle says, sitting down at the table. John joins him. “Whose turn is it in the chess game?”

“Yours, I believe. Was that your question?” John jokes.

“Ha! Nice try,” Merle retorts, using a pawn to take one of John’s diagonally. “I just moved between planar systems. Does this parley thing work across different systems, or do you have a method of transport? I know for sure you’re not hitching a ride with me.”

John considers how to answer that. On the one hand, Merle would probably let him decline to answer. But on the other, that could mean Merle refusing John’s questions later. And John has to be honest if he does answer, so… best to just keep it vague. “My friends and I, er, that crew of scientists,” he says, “We found a way to pass between dimensions just before you do. Using your portal, but not your plane.”

“Huh. That explains how you’ve done it without the Light in hand.”

John hesitates. “One more thing. During our first meeting, you mentioned that the Overgrowth– er, that is, your whole plant plane, here–”

“Overgrowth?” Merle laughs. “Kinda on-the-nose! Better than mine, though.”

“Yes, well,” John continues, “You said it all started with someone asking you about… something. What was it?”

Merle’s expression falls, but before John can find out why, he realizes that his hand, resting on the table, has nettles starting to grow over and around it, with spikes that are precariously close. “Time to go, then, I suppose.”

★

It’s a few more sessions before John tries the question again.

“I just keep wondering,” John explains, “because what you’ve done is so… incomprehensible, so unique. I can’t imagine what you were asked that made you create it.”

Merle closes his eyes. “When I was a cleric, back home, some members of my church found the Light of Creation. Young people, you know? The sort to ask big questions. Problem is, the Light had answers.” He takes a minute to make a chess move before continuing.

“They were scared of what they saw, so they showed it to me, looking for answers. And I- I saw–” Merle takes a shaky breath, and John realizes his eyes are glistening. “I saw everything. It wasn’t just the concept of eternity, it was every single moment of it. And everything we do is so small, John. It was all so antithetical to everything I’d ever believed. I… I don't…”

John puts a hand on top of Merle’s, on the table. Merle looks up at him, some of the distress relaxing into gratitude. “John,” he says seriously, “With all your space travels and whatnot, don’t you ever lose sight of the little things. Don’t zoom out so far into the big picture that you forget what’s important.”

John’s lips quirk upwards. “Don’t worry. I’m a bard. I know every note is important.”

“A bard, huh?” Merle leans back, (not far enough to separate their hands), and he takes on a jokingly offended look. “You been holdin’ out on me? What do I gotta do to hear you play?”

“Sing, actually,” John says. Usually he’s not a fan of impromptu requests, but he finds he doesn’t mind this one too much. “I mean, I do most of my magic with motivational speaking. But I sing sometimes, too.”

And then he does. He sings an old Dwarvish song that he learned on a previous world, something with a softer melody than most of their music is known for. He doesn’t actually know any Dwarvish outside of the lyrics he’s memorized, but he knows what it’s about: A stone that falls and rolls down a mountain, who talks to all the animals and plants it passes. And at the end, when it’s sitting still at the base, thinking it is alone, it learns it has befriended the mountain itself.

Merle is crying by the end of it, letting out any tears he was suppressing. “That was beautiful,” he says. “Thank you, John.”

★

The Overgrowth never appears in the sky. It climbs out from the core of the plane, a parasite, suffocating the world in shadow and cold as a cocoon covers it. And once the planar system is engulfed, it expands to its true size. The crew only ever sees it for a few moments– an enormous mass of plants, with vines reaching out to them, before time freezes and resets.

★

“I’ve seen dozens of civilizations use the Light to pursue knowledge,” John says. “How did your use of it create the Overgrowth?”

“It wasn’t in pursuit of knowledge,” Merle says. “It was… I led the church in a prayer. And because I had the Light, the whole world joined in as I called to Pan.” he sighs. “But I think that the vastness of eternity– of real eternity– was too big for gods, too.

“So Pan gave us his power. Or we ripped it out of him, I don’t know. I don’t think the light amplified his magic so much as… made its own version. Because, this–” he gestures to the forest– “this isn’t my Pan.

“Anyway, yeah. The Overgrowth began with that. We were all so afraid of being alone, being small andshort-lived in an uncaring universe. Of being nothing. But if we joined everyone together, if we became our own universe, we could be… something.”

★

“What brings you joy, John? Do you enjoy singing?” Merle asks, after another song.

“Yes. I like to… inspire people. And I like the way words and notes can be woven into any shape.” When Merle waits, John adds, “And… I love my crew, and…” They meet eyes.

“That’s good. Don’t ever stop loving things, John, don’t ever let yourself stop.”

“What do you enjoy, Merle?”

“I love your singing. I love our meetings. I love these waves,” Merle says, gesturing out towards the sea. “I wish I could remember any of that when I’m not here. Then, maybe… maybe I could stop all this. Stop… hurting everyone. Hurting you.”

★

In the ninety-second cycle, against the advice of the rest of the crew, John calls Merle for a final meeting. They’ve spoken in every cycle up till now– multiple times in some of them, when Merle could manage it.

On the beach and in the ocean, there are more trees than there used to be. It’s been a gradual increase over the decades, but it still feels like far too many, too fast. Above them, the night sky sparkles with stars.

“This may be our last meeting,” John says immediately. If he sits on the information, Merle will know something’s wrong.

Merle senses the weight of that statement, and so he doesn’t endanger John by asking why. Instead, he says, “What, your friends finally figured out you’re having an affair with the enemy instead of grilling me?”

John goes red for a moment before he relaxes and laughs. “You, personally, aren’t my enemy, Merle.”

“Just look at you, hopelessly brainwashed!”

They laugh. John has mentioned before how he’s sure the crew thinks he’s being Charmed, what with how happy he always leaves parley sessions, and with less new information each time. But he still fights against the Overgrowth just as hard as the rest of them, so they keep trusting him.

Merle speaks again as their laughter dies down. “I was wondering when this’d happen. You got any plans for our last day?”

Without really thinking, John starts to sing. He sings about the stars reflecting on the waves, about impossible wishes breaking the backs of meteors, about how far apart each star in a constellation is. He lets magic creep into the music, making the stars twinkle with different colors and having their reflections swirl in the ocean.

Merle faces away from John for most of it, staring out at the sea. “I loved that,” he says quietly at the end. “Where is it from?”

“I… I made it up just now. I thought you’d notice, what with all the stumbling and off-key notes.”

“It was perfect,” Merle whispers. They stare at the sky for a while, and then he breaks the silence again. “And you know I’m tone deaf, right?”

John laughs. “Oh, that’s right! I forgot. Guess that part doesn’t matter, then.”

“Yeah,” says Merle, and before they can fall into another silence, he adds, “Hey, you wanna know about these constellations? I think I still remember a few of them.”

“That would be lovely,” John says.

★

Seventeen years later, John drinks the ichor of a second voidfish, and he is overwhelmed by a sea of memories. In the emotional mayhem, he almost tries to parley. The thought is interrupted by the deafening crack of the moon base being torn through. The crew sees an enormous tree trunk grow straight up through a dome and then through the ceiling. There is a horrible, lurching tilt as the base’s ability to stay airborne goes out, and it remains in place by the tree’s strength alone.

★

Not an hour later, John vanishes from a barely-functional elevator and finds himself in an almost-familiar space. His shoes are on sand, but he’s surrounded by a fairly thick forest. He can see the ocean water to his side, glinting off the spots of sunlight between leaves. The picnic table is broken in half, with a tree dividing it.

And he sees Merle. “Holy shit, that worked,” the dwarf says. He’s on his knees, surrounded by foliage. His right arm looks like it’s made of wood, and his left eye has a flower obscuring it. John can’t tell if it’s growing over the eye or instead of it. He doesn’t want to know.

“Oh gods, Merle,” John says in a panic. “Fuck, it’s been– what’s going on?”

“It’s this very original idea I had,” Merle grins, considerably less worried than John is. “I call it Parley!”

“What happened to your arm? Your eye? Merle–”

“Don’t worry about it. And what about you? Your complexion? You look awful,” he laughs.

“I had my good skin stolen by elves who played… electronic dance music.”

“The hell’s that? Can you sing it? Will you–” his tone drops to something a little more serious. “Will you sing for me? One last time?”

“I- I can’t,” John says. “They took my singing, my… my sense of pitch. I can’t sing.”

Merle looks at him for a long moment, and John expects something sympathetic, pitying. He doesn’t want that at all. But before he can say that, Merle says, “You’re tellin’ me your pitch is stopping you from singin’ for Merle “tone-deaf” Hitower Highchurch, in a private parley area?” The trees around them seem to shift and creak. “What happened these last couple decades? The John I remember wasn’t shy like that.”

“No, it’s– I appreciate that, Merle, but it’s not that simple. I can’t feel the changes between notes at all, and it throws me off my rhythm every time. I can’t hold a tune.”

“John, if you won’t sing, I will,” Merle decides. “And you’re gonna hate it.”

“I doubt that,” John challenges.

And so Merle starts singing a loud, obnoxious shanty, wheezing every time it requires his voice to go higher. John realizes a few bars in that he recognizes it. It was broadcasted by one of the voidfish at Legato Conservatory.

As Merle predicted, John hates it, in an amused sort of way. He decides to try joining in, and he finds it’s easier to keep up with the rhythm when he’s being guided by Merle’s (albeit terrible) singing. They yell the song to the sea, lacking any semblance of harmony or tune.

“See,” Merle says, “You still got it!”

John laughs. “I just didn’t have any other way to drown you out, that’s all.”

“You coulda killed me,” Merle says, tone far too flat. John stops laughing. The trees seem to lurch inwards around them, making John feel mildly claustrophobic. “This is parley.”

“What? No, Merle, what?? I’m not– I won’t kill you. I can’t. Don’t say that.”

“It might solve your problem.” As he says it, John feels vines creeping up his feet, tighter than usual. He tries to kick them off.

“And it might not! Jesus, Merle! We’re gonna find a way, okay?”

Merle sighs. “Thought you might be like that. C’mere.” When John leans away from his inviting gesture, Merle adds, “I won’t trick you into killing me. I’m not a jackass.”

John hesitates another moment before stepping forward, shaking the plants from his legs. He sits down in front of Merle– with him cross-legged and the dwarf up on his knees, they’re nearly eye-level.

Merle puts his non-wood hand on John’s upper arm. Roots are starting to twist over both of their legs. “John,” he whispers, “Do you wanna know the worst lie I’ve ever been told?”

John leans in. “Yes…?”

“It’s that love and moments and songs aren’t worth anything because they’ll be gone someday. And I’ve been living that lie for ninety-nine percent of my last few centuries alive. Except when I’m with you.” The trees are getting wider, taller. They’re starting to actually close in. The wind whistling through the branches sounds like a scream. “So I wanted to tell ya thanks for that, and I also wanted a minute here to cast– Zone of Truth!”

The last words are a shouted spell, cast from his wooden hand, which has its fingers on the ground. The earth glows all around them, and then suddenly everything ignites. The arm, the trees, the vines. John expects the fire on his legs to burn him, but it just feels pleasantly warm.

As he’s squinting at the blaze, John feels Merle squeeze his arm a little tighter and cough. He looks down to see vines constructing Merle’s chest, aflame but too thick to be burned through yet.

“Oh gods, Merle, are you okay? I can– Maybe I can heal–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Merle wheezes gently. He moves his hand up to John’s head, running it through his hair. Then he presses their foreheads together, and they stay like that for a moment. “Destroy these bastards for me.”

And then John wakes up on the side of a dirt road.

★

At the end of the battle, John sees Merle once more. He’s sitting on the shore of the beach, looking like his normal self again. And there aren’t any trees in the sand or water– only some vegetation scattered further away, where it would be on a normal beach. Far across the water, two suns are setting, one just slightly above the other.

Merle looks up and smiles at John, then pats the ground beside him. “Will you sit with me?”

John does, his mind swirling with questions and wishes and apologies– something, anything to say to Merle before he’s gone. What does he say? Why can’t he get any words out?

“We don’t have to talk.” There’s an almost amused smile in Merle’s voice, like he knows what John’s thinking. “Let’s just watch this together.” He puts his hand on John’s, and they look out over the water.

When the first sun sets, and the other is three-quarters down, John feels the weight on his hand vanish, and when he looks over, Merle is gone.

Alone, he watches the other sun vanish, and then he is returned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find this fic on my tumblr [here](https://umbraastaff.tumblr.com/tagged/the-hunger-by-any-other-name)!
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic, a kudos or comment (or like/reblog) is always greatly appreciated!!


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